Having emerged from the silence that remembered those killed in the Paris attacks in November 2015, I felt as if I ought to express what I had felt, and so wrote this, which I thought I would share. I fear I could have done better, but I hope it is suitably fitting.
The Time Lords were a race of watchers, a species that was wont to keeping a close eye on others whilst making sure their hands were firmly out of the way. They saw civilisations grow and fall, they saw other creatures, other races fight each other, fight amongst themselves; they saw joy, sadness, anger, fury – they saw the same cycles, ever turning, never ending – and believed that they were above them all, sitting high on their vantage point, watching.
The Doctor was glad to have escaped such foul hubris. He couldn't stand by and watch, he couldn't leave the universe to the hands of its inhabitants; and he was particularly touched by the actions of humans, those who lived on his very favourite planet, who, for all their faults, never failed to move his hearts. He was fascinated by them; he loved a good many, hated a good many more; but he never gave up on them, never, no matter what.
He swung close, he looked out on the clouded planet from far above; and then he went closer and landed, and went from the TARDIS into the grey street beyond.
The air was dull, that of a cold autumn day. He wondered what year it was; he glanced around for clues, and concluded that it was 2015. November.
Yet it was colder and greyer than November, and as he walked he felt a heavy sense of loss over the place, an unshakeable feeling that something horrid had happened. He racked his memory; he wondered whether he ought to know what it was that had occurred.
He remembered suddenly, reaping a long-buried memory from the expansive fields of time, and felt tears prick his eyes as he realised that he was in the midst of a week of shock, of revulsion, of grieving. He hadn't been here before. He hadn't really wanted to come. Perhaps because it moved him so greatly, the fact that such horrors could have been perpetrated on the face of his beloved Earth, still, in 2015.
'Have you learnt nothing?' he asked in an angry, miserable whisper, stopping short of a puddle and looking down the colourless street at the sparse people who meandered, as if blaming them, though he knew it wasn't their fault. He hated humans' tendency for violence, he wondered why he still loved them, he wondered why he hadn't long abandoned them. In that moment, he felt every terrible emotion he possessed towards the human race, rather abandoning his values and his common sense in a wave of sadness.
And then there was a peal of bells, a whistling breeze; a woman just ahead of him stopped in her tracks and bowed her head; he looked up to the church clock nearby. Twelve noon.
He halted. The atmosphere was softer, the silence rather beautiful. All stopped; he felt as though he was floating. It was unreal... He swallowed, bowed his head, thought of death, and of life; of the faults of his favourite species – and of their wonderful little quirks that he still loved despite everything.
He did not know who had been killed. He knew it was a large number. Too big. He honoured their memory; he stood in silence, unmoving; he thought until tears began to fall from his eyes. He didn't like crying usually. It made him feel vulnerable. But now, here, in the silence...
Europe emerged from the silence uncertainly, shakily. The Doctor came from it with a calmer mind than before, still cursing those who had killed, still mourning those who had been killed, but flooded with some emotion that was no longer anger, or hatred – something else.
'Oh, you humans,' he murmured, shaking his head a little as the chatter began to resume, as those who had stood began to go on their way, many still deep in thought. For he knew that the silence held more meaning than he could express. Time Lords were prone to talk, so much talk. Indeed, humans were, and greatly. But humans valued silence, they used it so beautifully, they used it to unite and to rise above those terrors that tried to break it. The saying went that silence was golden, and the Doctor knew that as long as they thought to stand, to remember, to fall silent and think instead of acting rashly – so long as the message spread, so long as they remembered – so they would become rich.
Sometimes he hated the Earth. Sometimes he was a Time Lord, sometimes he stood high above and watched it burn, watched humans destroy themselves as they destroyed each other. Sometimes he wondered why he loved them so much... Then he returned to their level, and watched them, and shared in their wonderful, wonderful traditions, their games, their celebrations, their silences, their lives – then he remembered why he loved them, then he remembered why he still loved them even after they had broken his hearts. They had loved, lost, learnt. They were still learning. And whilst there were still some good apples on the planet, he would retain his immense faith in the human race. He wouldn't give up that easily. And he knew that they wouldn't either.